


sticking to our guns

by fletcherstringham



Series: FMA Rarepair Week 2017 [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, FMA Rarepair Week 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fletcherstringham/pseuds/fletcherstringham
Summary: Russell Tringham has a way with words and little self-control. For John Belsio, it's sometimes a frustrating combination.





	sticking to our guns

**Author's Note:**

> another piece for [fma rarepair week 2017,](http://fmararepairweek.tumblr.com/) this time for the prompt, 'first fight.' alternate title: *belsio voice* russell, for the love of god, CHILL *russell screaming in the distance*

The silent treatment—Russell knows it well. It’s a strategy that he employs quite often himself, if he’s honest. He often overlaps and occasionally butts heads with those of extreme emotionality, and very little rattles them more than being completely ignored: a turned back, folded arms, and stony expression can often guarantee a surrender faster and easier than a raised voice ever could.

He knows the silent treatment well indeed, and he even thinks that he’s good at it, with as much as he’s practiced.

Unfortunately for him, Belsio is even better.

It isn’t just not _speaking_ to Russell. That, he could deal with; Belsio is a quiet man, an introvert if Russell’s ever met one, and he likes to keep to himself almost as much as he hates small talk. But even when he and Russell aren’t directly conversing, Belsio still _engages_ with him. A fond look over whatever he’s reading, a kiss behind his ear before he goes outside, a touch of his shoulder as he passes. Suddenly deprived of all that—despite his insistence that he did nothing to warrant it—Russell’s resolve begins to fray at the edges.

Fifty-seven minutes in, he cracks.

“I did apologize already, didn’t I?” he asks, planting himself behind the sofa where Belsio sits and folding his arms.

Over his book, Belsio _finally_ meets Russell’s eyes. His are dark and penetrating in his grim face, the perfect complement to his thin mouth and tight jaw. Russell forgot how _cold_ he can be—or else never realized it to begin with, since that coldness has never before been directed at him.

At last, Belsio says plainly, “You did.”

“You just haven’t forgiven me.”

There’s no pause this time. “Nope.”

Russell paces the length of the living room a few times, his fingers twitching anxiously against his forearm. Then, he spins back around to face Belsio and says, all in one breath, “Could you at _least_ tell me what I _did_ , because I still don’t understand—”

“You know exactly what you did,” Belsio interrupts with steel in his voice. He slams his book down on the coffee table and turns toward Russell with his arms tightly crossed; on him, it looks more intimidating than defensive. “When I invited you to come to lunch with me and my sister and her husband, I asked you to do _one_ thing for me. Now, what was that?”

“You asked me not to start any fights.” Russell struggles to keep his tone even; he hastens to add, “But I didn’t _start_ it, did I? Your stupid _brother-in-law_ was the one running his mouth off—”

“Of _course_ he was running his mouth off, Russell! That’s all he ever _does_ is run is mouth off,” Belsio says exasperatedly. “I’d _hoped_ you could be the bigger person and _ignore him_.”

“What, _ignore him_ talking shit about you like you’re not sitting right across from him?!”

“Yes! Literally, yes!” Belsio smacks his forehead, then wipes his hand down his face with a long-suffering sigh. “That’s all I asked you to do, Russell! And _what_ did you do instead? Go on, tell me,” he insists when Russell only stands there, caught between indignation and bashfulness.

“I—” Bashfulness wins out. Heat creeps up Russell’s neck, and he glances at the floor while a hand reaches up to awkwardly rub the back of his head. “I called him a bullying ass-pustule who needed to stop sneering at us with that wrinkly ball-sack he calls a face,” he mutters.

“And when my sister tried to defend him?” Belsio presses.

Russell exhales and looks up at the ceiling, flushing furiously now. “I told her that she might as well check him for prostate cancer since her head’s already so far up his ass, she can’t be bothered to defend her own brother.”

Spoken aloud, it _does_ sound the tiniest bit extreme.

“Okay, but look,” Russell begins.

“All I asked,” Belsio says again, his hand pressed to his face, “is for you to not start any kind of conflict. You know my brother-in-law doesn’t like me. You know my sister’s in denial of the fact because it’s unpleasant for her to think about. I’m not saying it’s right of either of them, but it’s the way things are and _you_ told me you could deal with that and get through the _one_ afternoon without—”

“Well, it _shouldn’t_ be the way things are!” Russell bursts out, the fire returning to him. “Tobias Lemac has no goddamn right to treat you the way he does and if your sister had a shred of decency, she’d tell him so herself, but since she doesn’t and you’re so determined to turn the other cheek, _someone_ had to stand up for you!”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Russell,” Belsio answers. He drops his hand. “I don’t _want_ you to fight my battles for me. I didn’t even want you _involved_ in this whole mess.”

“Then why even invite me along?”

Belsio flashes him a look like he’s being very dense, which turns Russell’s indignation to outright irritation. “Mary brought _her_ partner. It only felt right that I should bring mine,” he says. “I didn’t know you’d blow up twenty minutes in after a few snide remarks from Lemac.”

“What was I _supposed_ to do?” Russell insists. “What _should_ I have said? ‘You know what, you’re right. Belsio really _is_ a stupid, jobless recluse who plays in the dirt all day and pervs on younger men. I absolutely agree. Glad we had this talk.’” He spreads his hands. “Is that what I should have said? Huh?”

“You should’ve said _nothing_ ,” Belsio tells him again.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do that!” Belsio’s eyes widen slightly, and Russell falters, realizing belatedly that his voice has risen to a shout. He’s careful to lower it when he continues. “Maybe if it were _me_ Lemac were shitting on, I could have—I don’t know, bitten my tongue and saved my ranting until we got home. If it were me, I could have done that, I think. But not you. You are too good and too kind for someone like—” he makes a flippant gesture that hopefully describes Lemac’s awfulness, complete with a frustrated noise, “—to talk down to you and treat you like gunk on the bottom of their shoe. Okay? You objectively deserve better than that. If I didn’t go about it the right way, I’m sorry, but it’s important to me that he knows, and she knows, that you deserve better than that. That’s why I did what I did. I wasn’t picking a fight for its own sake.”

Belsio sighs again—this time, long and slow. Contemplative. “Russell, hon, I know you weren’t,” he tells him, after several moments, more gently now. “And _I’m_ sorry if I ever made it seem like I’m not touched by your—” his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile, and a laugh creeps into his voice,  “— _willingness_ to defend my honor. I appreciate that I mean so much to you, and you mean just as much to me, I promise. But, Russell, you don’t have to do that. Especially not with Mary and Tobias. I’ve dealt with them literally longer than you’ve been alive—”

Russell can’t contain an irritable snort. Adult or no, he doesn’t like being reminded that he’s so much younger than Belsio—doesn’t like being reminded of his youth in general.

“—and, honestly, at this point, there’s nothing they can say to hurt me. Lemac can throw his jibes and Mary can turn a deaf ear, but at this point, I’m beyond caring. I let it slide because it doesn’t affect me, not because I think it’s my due or anything. And that nonreaction is what _really_ gets to him, you know? More than fighting him ever could. Maybe it’s a small revenge, but it’s all I need.”

Belsio pauses to sigh again, a hand reaching up to absently push some dark hair out of his face. Somewhat timidly, Russell crosses over to the sofa and stands awkwardly beside where Belsio sits, his arms wrapped around his middle.

“And fighting back isn’t just sinking to his level, either,” Belsio continues in an even quieter voice. “It gives him more excuses to keep me from seeing Elisa, or even turn her against me.” He looks up at Russell. “You didn’t think of that, did you?”

“No,” Russell admits, sinking down beside him. It’s his turn to sigh; he presses his fingertips to his temple as the breath rushes out of him all at once. “I wasn’t trying to sabotage your relationship with your niece.”

“Russell, I know you weren’t.” Belsio takes his hand.

“I just got so angry, when he kept on with the little comments—John, I mean it when I say that you deserve better than that, okay?” Russell turns to face him, squeezing his fingers tight. “You do. You really do. That’s why I reacted like I did.”

“I know,” Belsio murmurs. He glances down at their entwined hands as he absently rubs Russell’s knuckle with his thumb. “That temper of yours’ll get you and me both killed someday,” he says, a smile tugging at his mouth, “but I can’t say I don’t love you for it. Just … try to rein it in around Lemac, all right? For both of our sakes. You don’t have to like him; heaven knows I don’t. Just be civil so he’ll leave us well alone. And remember, just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m agreeing with him. You’ve got your way of fighting, and I’ve got mine.” When Russell lowers his hand from his face, Belsio leans over to tuck his long bangs behind his ear. “I know you wanna be my knight in shining armor. That’s just who you are, and it’s precious. But I’m a big boy, Russell; I can fight for myself too, you know.”

“I know. I’ll try to … rein it in, like you said.” He tries to look and sound solemn, but it’s hard to suppress a smile at his words, and color reappears in his cheeks. He glances down at his lap. “I’ll call the Lemacs and apologize. Tomorrow, though; after they’ll have simmered down some. How does that sound?”

“It sounds good.” Belsio squeezes his hand. “Thank you, Russell.”

They sit in peaceful silence for several minutes, knees and shoulders bumping gently, still holding hands. Their first major argument, finished and survived. Russell blows out a slow breath, then smiles and nudges Belsio.

“So,” he says, “have you forgiven me now?”

Belsio pretends to think about it; Russell sees him chew on the inside of his cheek. “Hm. I’m not sure.” A smirk crosses his lips. “You’re pretty creative with those insults, there. What’ll you call _me_ if I don’t?”

“I would call you the kindest, handsomest, most patient, compassionate, and overall _amazing_ man in the entire world, wholly and unambiguously,” Russell answers without the slightest hint of irony. Belsio blinks, cheeks darkening; it isn’t easy to catch him off-guard, but it’s so fun when Russell manages it. “I would call you adorable when your face turns red and your eyes get big, which is how you look now. I would call you the light of my life—”

“Russell, _stop_ ,” Belsio moans, yanking his hand free from Russell’s to hide his face with it.

“The _siren song_ of my _soul_ —”

“Why are you so ridiculous?” he mumbles.

“The rhythmic beat of my heart, the very _air_ I breathe—wait, come back!”

He grabs Belsio by the hand, laughing, when he tries to duck away, and captures his lips in a kiss before he can complain anymore. The impulse to defend him, protect him, is strong, but if Belsio doesn’t want a knight of him, he won’t be one. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs—that’s what Russell will try to be.


End file.
